


She Drives Me Crazy, and I Can't Help Myself

by almondjoyz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almondjoyz/pseuds/almondjoyz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pet peeves (habits, not the ghost of Hogwarts) rear their ugly head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Drives Me Crazy, and I Can't Help Myself

Ginny stared at Harry across the table, mouth agape and her temper building. He was doing it again and he didn’t even notice.

“Enjoying your breakfast?” she asked through clenched teeth as she flung herself against the back of her chair. “Is it tasty?”

Harry looked up mid-chew and swallowed hard. “What? What’d I do now?”

“You mean you don’t notice?”

“Notice what?” Harry checked his face for any stray bits of scrambled eggs or flecks of toast. “Do I have something between my teeth?” He ran his tongue over his front teeth.

Ginny sighed heavily. “You sound like a bloody pig when you eat!” He only stared at her. “Like this!” She went on to make a series of smacking sounds, doing her best to make it as noisy as possible, hoping to get her point across.

Harry snorted. “That’s funny. You sound worse than Ron.”

Ginny threw a napkin at him and left the table in a huff.

\-----

Harry reread the sentence for the fifth time. The report wasn’t full of taxing information, nor was it filled with boring details; she was doing it again. He looked at her, contentedly working on a crossword puzzle like she usually did most evenings, and humming--humming a non-tune, random melodies known only to her.

“Ginny.”

The humming stopped. “Yeah?” she asked, smiling at him.

“That’s better,” he answered, turning his attention back to the report. “I just need a little quiet.”

“But I was quiet. I’m always quiet when you’re working.”

“No, you’re not.”

Ginny shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I’m just doing a crossword puzzle. I doubt you can hear the pen scratching the paper.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration building up inside him. “The other thing.”

“What other thing? Harry, I think you’ve been reading that too long. Your brain’s gone all mushy,” she teased, turning back to her puzzle. The humming returned.

“How can I read this when you make that damn sound all the time?” His anger built up, ready to explode.

“I’m doing a God damned crossword puzzle!” She threw the paper and pen onto the floor and leaned forward so that her face was inches from his.

“And humming! Every day, you do a puzzle and hum! It fucking drives me nuts!”

“What? You’re mad because I hum? Oh that’s rich coming from the food smacker!”

“I don’t smack!”

“Yes, you do!” Ginny made smacking noises, exaggerating the sound.

“Well at least I don’t hum and distract people from real work,” he retorted, knowing full well it was a low blow.

“REAL work?”

“Yeah. Real work.”

Ginny sprung off the sofa and kicked him in the shin, eliciting a yelp that gave her great satisfaction. “So my job isn’t real? Screw you, Potter!” She shoved her way past him and paused at the fireplace. “I’m going. I don’t like being smothered.”

“Yeah, that's right, leave like you always do," he began when she moved toward the door. "We’re not married. Not like I haven’t asked,” he muttered under his breath.

\---

Ginny strolled up to the door of The Burrow, still seething over what Harry had said. She'd been fit to bursting from anger since leaving Grimmauld Place, even to the point of tears. When she'd moved in with him six months ago, she thought things would be great. However, she'd never known that Harry was such a neat freak or that he'd smacked his food or that walking on carpet with shoes was a mortal sin.

With a heavy sigh, she turned the doorknob and entered the kitchen. To her surprise, it was empty; her mother usually spent a good portion of the day in this room and to find it empty was a rare occurrence. Grabbing a biscuit off a plate on the table, she stepped past the scullery and smiled at the pile of hand-dyed yarn waiting to be knitted into jumpers for the family. There was royal blue for Bill and Fleur, red for Charlie, brown for Percy and Audrey, yellow for George, maroon for Ron and Hermione, and purple for herself. The brilliant green that was always for Harry was soaking in a tin bucket.

Turning away from the door, she nearly stumbled into her mother, who was carrying a basketful of eggs, which fell to the floor at their feet.

"Ginny! Goodness, dear, you startled me!" her mother gasped, clutching a hand to her chest. "What are you doing here? Is Harry with you?" She peered around Ginny's shoulder anxiously.

"No, he's at home. Can I stay here for a while?"

"You don't live here anymore, dear. You really should have called first." Molly withdrew her wand from her apron pocket and cleaned up the eggs from the floor.

"Well, aren't I always welcome? You told me that yourself when I moved out," Ginny said impatiently. She couldn't understand why her mother was putting up such a fuss; she was always thrilled when Ginny had stopped by before. "What's going on?"

"Well, you were always expected before. Your room...well, it's occupied," her mother admitted.

"Who's in my room, Mum?" Ginny bolted for the stairs, taking two at a time and skidded to a halt at the door. Her mother's heavy footfalls followed her and stopped just behind Ginny. She pushed the door open and wonderful smells assaulted her nostrils. At one end of the room was a double oven flanked by metal work tables. A large sink was on the other side of the room as well as a commercial grade refrigerator.

"Mum? What did you do to my bedroom?" Ginny asked, feeling shocked, angry, and amazed all at the same time.

Wringing her hands together, her mother looked sheepishly at Ginny. "Well, remember how Audrey mentioned that her parents' restaurant was looking for a new pastry supplier?"

Ginny nodded, recollecting the conversation from last Easter.

"Well, I'm their new supplier." Her mother beamed.

"But why my room? You've got a bloody kitchen downstairs, for crying out loud!" Her gaze fell upon the sloped wall where her poster of the Harpies looked down at her for years.

"I needed more room and your room is right above the kitchen, and it was easy to add the plumbing."

"So where am I supposed to stay?" she asked petulantly.

"You don't live here anymore. I think I'm free to do what I want with my home," her mother said sternly. "You and Harry have always gone home on the holidays, so have Ron and George. Bill and Fleur are the only ones that have stayed because of the babies."

"So where am I supposed to stay?"

"Well, let's see..." she sat on a stool and began drumming the table top. "Bill and Charlie's old room is a pantry now. George and Fred's room has the baby cots in it, and Percy's old room is where your father does his Muggle tinkering, so, there's always Ron's room."

"Ron's room? It'll be bloody sweltering in there!" Ginny shouted as she wandered to the worktable and jumped onto it, sitting down.

"Well, then you should've stayed home."

"This is my home!"

Her mother shook her head and walked over to the refrigerator, withdrawing butter and levitating a bowl of eggs, placing them next to Ginny.

"I'm sorry, but I thought you moved out six months ago. You said you were ready to have your own life, with Harry, and that it was—what did you say? Oh yes, it was the 'next logical step in your relationship.'" She turned her attention to the eggs and butter, which were now mixing themselves together.

"But you told me I was always welcome here, and look what you've done to my room!" She waved a hand in mock disgust.

Molly turned around to face her daughter. "You are, dear," she said gently. "This will always be your home. But why did you move in with Harry?"

Ginny set her jaw and collected her thoughts before speaking. "I love him and wanted to be with him."

"So why are you here then?"

"He's annoying!"

Her mother chuckled. "All men are, dear."

"He smacks when he eats, he's a bloody neat freak, always telling me to take me shoes off, yelling at me for leaving my clothes all over the place. And he always wants to know where I am and thinks that he needs to solve all the world's problems and keep me safe," she said in one breath.

"And?"

"And what? He drives me crazy! I needed to get away," Ginny pointed out.

Her mother sighed. "Let's see, if I recall correctly, you've had to 'get away' to Ron and Hermione's a few times, and I know for a fact that Bill and Fleur have hosted you on more than one occasion. Have you visited Neville at Hogwarts yet?" She stared at Ginny, her eyes peering into her soul, making Ginny wonder if her mother was a Legilimens. "If you have issues or problems with Harry, you need to stay and talk to Harry, not run away."

"But—"

"No buts, Ginevra. You can't make it better if you don't talk to him about things. That's what makes a good marriage."

"We're NOT married, Mother! I'm not ready to get married. I've told him that," Ginny said with irritation.

"Well then, I guess you're right about that," she said, turning back to her mixing bowl, where the sugar was pouring into the bowl, mixing with the butter and eggs.

"About what?"

Her mother clucked. "About not being ready to get married. If you're not ready to work through things and stick around, I guess marriage isn't for you. You may as well move back here."

"But I don't want to!" She banged her fist on the tabletop.

"Well then, I suggest you figure out exactly what you do want because it isn't fair to either you or Harry if you keep acting this way. You're twenty-two, not twelve. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. I know you don't like to bake."

\--

"Bloody fucking hell!" Harry shouted into the kitchen, causing Kreacher to disappear, the cat to run away, and the owl to screech. He slumped down into the chair and laid his head on his arms, not knowing if he would cry or explode with accidental magic.

This wasn't the first time that Ginny left when they'd had a spat over little stuff. It irritated the hell out of him when Ginny would run away instead of talking to him. He tried very hard to control his own temper and talk when he had issues; it was something he'd learned in the Aurors. And as tempted as he was to chase after her, he resisted. Running was her thing.

The Floo spring to life and he wasn't surprised to see Ron's face. Ginny must have gone over there again. Figured.

"Hey, mate," Ron said, sounding much too friendly for Ginny to be over there.

Harry merely nodded a hello.

"Uh oh, you and Gin have a fight again?" Ron asked, an amused smirk forming on his face.

Harry scowled.

"Harry, Harry, Harry, when are you two ever going to learn?"

"Learn what?"

"To just have sex when you're angry with her," Ron suggested.

"Ron!"

"Or is make-up sex better for you?"

"What have you been smoking?" Harry asked, inching his way toward the fireplace. "You've been in denial about my sex life for years."

"I don't smoke, and it's been a little difficult to be in denial after walking in on you and Ginny those two times."

Harry chuckled, the images of those two times flashing through his mind. "So Ginny's not there?"

Ron shook his head. "Is she at Bill's?"

"If she was, he'd have been here within five minutes. Wonder if she went to The Burrow," Harry thought out loud.

"Want some company?" Ron asked.

"Meet me at The Leaky? I need to get out of here." Harry stood up and ran a hand over his eyes. "I don't think she's coming home anyway."

"Ten minutes? Gotta say goodbye to Hermione," Ron said.

Harry groaned. "Ten's all you need? Thought you'd get better than that by now, mate."

Fifteen minutes later, Harry stepped into the entrance of The Leaky Cauldron, heaving a sigh of relief at the small number of people inside the pub. Even though it had been a few years since the last battle with Voldemort, there were still some people who thought the sun came out of his arse. Ginny thought it was funny, he remembered, and that made his mood sink. He hated it when they fought, especially over stupid shit. But the stupid stuff was easier to fight about than the big things.

"Harry! What are you doing here?"

He looked up and gave a half-smile to Luna Lovegood. While he normally was happy to see her, Ron was the only company he wanted at the time.

"Hey, Luna. I'm meeting Ron," he answered as he slunk down into a corner booth.

"Have you and Ginny quarrelled again?" Luna asked, sliding into the booth beside him. "Harry, just talk to her." She took his hand in hers and wrapped her fingers around his.

"Luna..."

"What happened?" She peered up at him, boring into his mind, her large eyes bulging. "I'm picking up nuts." Her head tilted to the side.

A snort escaped Harry's mouth as he tried to gather himself. "What?"

"And cars," she added, sounding extremely serious.

He stared dumbfounded at her, trying to figure out what the bloody hell she was talking about.

Then it hit him. "OH! Yeah, you're right. She's driving me crazy."

"Well, if you want to get technical, I suppose," Luna said while she frowned. "But Harry, you forgot the most important thing."

"What's that?"

"No one can drive you crazy unless you give them the keys," she stated matter-of-factly. "Just think about it. Ronald's here." She slid out of the booth and walked toward the door, where Ron was, indeed, standing. Harry watched as she spoke with him and mulled over her odd piece of advice (was it really advice or just an odd statement?).

No one can drive you crazy unless you give them the keys. He knew that there were odd things about other people that bothered him, but he could just let them go. Ginny's little quirks, well, why did they bother him so much?

"You need a hand pulling yourself out of the dump, mate?"

Harry looked up, pulled from his thoughts by Ron, who was in the booth with two very large mugs of ale. Smiling, he pulled one toward him, lifted it to his mouth and took a long swig, sighing at the feel of it pouring into his gut.

"She's at The Burrow," Ron said flatly. "Mum called."

Harry nodded and took another drink. "Is she okay?"

"Of course, she is," Ron reassured him. "Mum told me something." This piqued Harry's interest and he set down his mug. "Ginny says you smack when you chew."

"Really." He rolled his eyes. "I don't smack."

"Yes, you do, especially when it's something you really like," Ron added. "Ever since starting Hogwarts, I think. You should hear it when you have a piece of treacle tart in front of you." He took another swig from his mug.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Ron swallowed and shook his head. "I did, in first year. Didn't help, either. Hermione tried, too, but we just learned to live with it. And here I bet you thought my eating habits were bad."

"Well, they are. You chew with your mouth open."

"I know. And now that I know it bothers Hermione—"

"She told you that in sixth year!" Harry interrupted.

"Hang on, here. I'm married and I've learned that there are certain things you just have to accept and let go. Like the way she mouths the words when she reads or how she makes little noises with her lips when she's trying to figure something out," Ron pointed out. "Yeah, they get on my nerves but I'd rather tune it out than get into a fight about it. OH!"

"What?"

"That's what you were fighting about? Little quirks? What'd you say about her?"

"You look entirely too eager to hear this."

Ron shrugged, but urged him on with a meaningful look.

"She hums when she does crosswords, especially when I'm doing work."

"Humming. That's all?"

"No. She leaves her clothes all over the place."

"Well, you are a neat-freak, Harry."

"Am not!"

"You are, mate. Ever notice how your side of the dorm was always neat as a pin?"

Harry thought for a moment, remembering back to his years at Hogwarts. While the others left their beds and trunks in somewhat of disarray for the house-elves to clean up, his side tended to look as if he never slept in his bed. He never thought of himself as a neat-freak, but living with his aunt and uncle, growing up as a human house-elf, he supposed he'd held onto some of those habits.

"Well, maybe a bit," he admitted.

It was Ron's turn to roll his eyes. "And we never said anything because that's just the way you are. You've gotta accept her and her little quirks. If you can't, well then, maybe you shouldn't, well, you know."

Harry sighed, taking in Ron's words. "She doesn't want to get married."

"What?" Beer spilled onto the table as Ron slammed it down.

"I've asked her. Twice."

"When? Why didn't you tell me?"

"First time was in October. She thought she was pregnant."

Ron's eyes nearly bulged out of his head, but he remained silent.

"Told me she didn't want a pity engagement. Didn't want me to feel obligated to marry her."

"But that's just the way you are. Noble."

Harry nodded. "Then she found out she wasn't pregnant and things were okay for a while. I asked her again at New Year's."

"And she still said 'no'? Merlin, what the hell's wrong with her?"

"Told me she wasn't ready. Something about two more years on her contract and she couldn't think about anything like that until it was time for negotiations. I guess she means to use it as leverage," Harry said softly. That argument with her was the most painful thing he'd endured in quite a while. They both said some awful things to each other and she'd left for more than a week. When she came back, they never discussed what had gone on, just simply picked up where they'd left off.

"Ginny wouldn't use that to get more money, you know that. She doesn't play for the money," explained Ron, clearly adamant in his opinion.

"I know," Harry answered softly. "But she didn't stay long enough to explain. She's always running away."

"You have to get her to stay, that's all," Ron advised. "She's too independent for her own good, and I think she feels that you'll take that away if you get married."

"That's just wrong!"

"But does she know that?" Ron gave him a pointed look and drank from his mug. "Sometimes you just need to spell it out."

Harry sighed heavily and stared at the table. "When did you figure all this out?" he asked, looking up at his friend with a half-smile.

"Do you not remember who my wife is?"

\---

Ginny trudged up the stairs, stepping heavily on all the creaky places she'd learn to avoid over the years. Even a couple hours after her conversation with her mother, she was still stewing over the fact that her room, her childhood sanctuary, was a bloody kitchen! She growled from deep within her throat as she opened the door to Ron's old room.

A soft hooting drew her attention to the window, causing her to smile without thinking. There sat Cassiopeia, the owl she shared with Harry, with a bit of parchment at her feet.

"Hello, there, darling," she said as she reached out and stroked the feathers, eliciting another soft hoot from the bird. "Do you have something for me?" Ginny reached down and took the note from the window ledge. Her name was written in Harry's small, slanted penmanship followed by only two words: Come home.

Home. That was her struggle for so long. Her mother was right on that one. If she truly wanted to make a life of any kind with Harry (which she wanted more than anything), she had to shift her idea of home. She couldn't run to The Burrow when things got tough; she couldn't let her temper get the best of her when she felt threatened. Harry was her life and it was about time she showed him.

"MUM!" she shouted, smiling as she recalled her mother doing that same thing over the years. "I'm going home!" Her heart swelled as she pictured their homey kitchen before Disapparating.

\---

"Thank Merlin," Molly muttered. "Now to set those rooms back to normal."

\---

Harry paced the kitchen floor, hoping that Ginny would show up soon before he lost his nerve.  
He loved her more than anything or anyone and whatever was going on between them needed to get fixed. Talking was never his strong suit; he preferred to act. But, after his conversation with Ron, the decision was an easy one to make.

A soft crack drew his attention to the hallway above him. Knowing instinctively it was Ginny, he took the stairs two at a time and nearly crashed into her.

"Hey!"

"Sorry!"

He grabbed her around the waist and carried her back to the kitchen. Ginny began giggling and wrapped her legs around him. He placed her on a bar stool and sat across from her, taking her hands in his and inhaling deeply.

"Ginny, I've got some things to say and I need to get it all out at once."

"Okay..." she answered, biting her bottom lip. "Go ahead."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I chew like a cow and that I can't stand to have clothes lying on the floor. But that's just me. I didn't have a childhood but was an...a...an indentured servant. I had to pick up after my fat-arsed cousin and got belted when things weren't spotless. But I'll try to do better and even let you—"

"LET me?"

"—have a pile in the bathroom. I just want you to be happy and stay here with me. You're my life. I love you and want to be with you in whatever way you want. Although I do want to marry you, you know, because we'd have beautiful babies and I'd have a family—"

"Harry..."

"—because that's what I've always wanted. But if you want to play Quidditch for twenty years, that's fine because I'll wait for you 'cause Merlin knows you've waited for me. I mean, I'd like to be young and enjoy our kids, but hell, we're magical, and I reckon we can have kids in our sixties if that's what we want. You drive me crazy with all your quirks—"

"MY quirks!"

"—but you've had the keys to my heart for ages, and can drive me anywhere the hell you want. I just don't want to lose what we've fought so hard for. I can't imagine my life without you so I'll take whatever you give me." Harry stopped and breathed, glad to have gotten all his thoughts out. He looked at Ginny, his heart warm and overflowing with affection for her.

Ginny closed her eyes and squeezed his hands before reaching up to straighten his glasses. "Harry, I know exactly how you feel. I love you more than anything and want to be with you, too."

"But...?" Harry answered solemnly.

"But what?"

Harry took his hands away and sat down on a chair at the table. "But you want to see how much money you can get by telling the Harpies you might get married. Don't deny it. You told me so yourself!" His stomach tied itself up in knots and he almost felt like he'd throw up.

"I did no bloody such thing!" she shouted.

"I asked you to marry me in January. You said 'no' because you had two years left on your contract. I assume our relationship will be a negotiation tool," he growled.

"Where the hell did you get that idea?"

"I'm not stupid!"

"For your information, you made a classic error—you assumed something about me instead of asking for clarification," she said through her teeth.

"So clarify. Please."

Ginny took a deep breath and closed her eyes, which he knew meant she was gathering her thoughts.

"Yes, I have another year and a half on my contract. But what you didn't know was that I wasn't going to negotiate the next one."

That surprised him. "You're just going to let them take advantage of you?"

"HARRY! Shut up and listen to me for once!" Ginny shouted, throwing her arms up in the air. "You always do that—you don't listen to me!"

"Fine, so tell me." He put his feet on the table and crossed them at the ankles. "I'm all ears."

"Are you going to let me finish?" He nodded. "Okay, I'm not negotiating the next contract because I don't want to be a married Quidditch player. I want to be your wife and have your babies. Shut your mouth, you said you'd let me finish!" She waited while he closed his mouth. "I've seen too many married players have affairs or get divorced. Even fewer of them ever have kids. That's not what I want with you. I can do other things besides play Quidditch."

He hadn't expected that. "I don't want to make you choose Quidditch or me."

Ginny growled again. "You didn't. I decided it all by myself, and yes, I didn't tell you because I really didn't think it was all that big of a deal."

"Well, it is! This is something we should have talked about! It's important to us!"

"You're right," she admitted.

Harry nearly fell backwards off the chair. "What?"

She smiled. "I said, you're right. I realised that at The Burrow. Well, Mum helped me realise that."

He took his feet down and held out a hand, asking her to sit on his lap. "What did she help you realise?" She took his hand and straddled him.

"That home is with you. That my life is with you, and that if I want it, I can't run away. It's not fair to either of us." She ran a finger down his cheek, sending a shiver through him. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Well, running away when we have fights for starters. I just don't like being treated like a little girl—"

"When—"

"Shut up for a minute, Potter." She eyed him carefully before continuing. "Mum would always nag me about picking up my clothes and I don't like hearing it from you, either."

Harry raised a hand.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Can I say something?"

Ginny nodded.

"I said you could have a pile in the bathroom," he reminded her.

"No, you said you'd 'let' me have a pile in the bathroom," Ginny said, pointing a figure at him. "You don't _let_ me do anything. We decide things together."

"Agreed," he answered, kissing her nose. "But there're the little things that bug us, too."

"Ah yes, the smacking," she said with a laugh.

"I don't smack," he retorted out of habit. "Sorry. I've been told that I've done it for a number of years."

Ginny nodded. "As long as I've known you. But I promise to remind you about it in a nice way in the future."

"And I'll wear earplugs when you do crosswords," he answered with a snicker. "You do hum, love."

She turned her head and blushed a fetching shade of red. "Maybe I'll try some new tunes."

Harry laughed and hugged Ginny tightly. "I'll settle for Celestina Warbeck."

"Eww. Barry White?"

He raised an eyebrow, surprised that she remembered the Muggle singer. "Better. So, did we make up?" He ran a hand down her back, lingering at the waistband of her jeans.

"Were you talking to Ron about make-up sex again?"

"Me? You know I don't talk to him about sex."

"Well then, I guess we did. Make up, that is."

And make up they did.


End file.
